


Licentious

by egzantirik



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Acquaintances to Lovers, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, References to Depression, Reunions, Set after DMC3, Vaginal Sex, alternative universe, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egzantirik/pseuds/egzantirik
Summary: You thought you had stopped counting days after he left, knowing he was not one to go back on his word, knowing you were not anything to come back to any way. Then he came back.





	Licentious

It had been a busy day for you, as they usually were. Today, however, you felt drained. Absolutely and utterly drained with your feet bruised in your heels and your calves stiff; your back, shoulders and neck ached every time you moved, every step closer to your home you took. You felt as if your whole body needed to recharge for a few years at least, you thought exaggeratedly in your tired desperation, if you were ever going to feel somewhat better again— you so desperately needed food, shower and sleep. You needed to eat whatever was readily available in your kitchen – for the _last_ thing you wanted to do as soon as you got home was to cook – and then soak under boiling hot water to relieve some of the tension in your muscles; you needed to bask in scented oils and moisturizing creams or whatever countless products you had that made you feel as if you were floating whenever you indulged yourself the luxury, so you could sleep peacefully for an eternity.

 

Or you would just skip everything else and go straight to sleep, you would survive through hunger and you did not smell too bad, did you? Oily hair, icky skin, you totally did. Oh, well.

 

You felt drained not only physically, but emotionally. It was not something that morphed into being from void and weighed heavily on your chest; you had been like this before. Stress of daily life and work and friends and whatever family you got breathing down the nape of your neck with their relentless demands and ridiculous claims, unhappy and ungrateful customers and people reduced to shells of who they used to be by the clutches of this city in general— sometimes life itself would tire you; bit by bit, everything would accumulate like rain drops slowly piercing through rock and you would finally feel it hit you all at once, the tightly closed and long ignored rattling dam being broken only to sweep you off your feet and drown you in waves of relentless misery. The exhaustion, the need to cry and simply cease to exist.

 

You definitely needed sleep. Some rest. It would be okay. Time would heal everything, and it seemed to feel like it actually _passed_ whenever you slept, so that is what you had been doing instead of trying to contact people in your life and trying to spend some time with them. Instead of trying to be productive, instead of going through the trouble of taking care of your sorry self, God were you pathetic in your shining, splendid ignorance.

 

Until the building in which you resided was in sight, you took deep breaths and exhaled in every four steps, feeling the cold air burn down your throat as it filled your lungs unforgivingly and hitting your exposed skin like sharp knives. The chilly air made you shiver down to your bones and you thought your nose would fall off if you stayed outside for any longer, your eyes watery from the burn— though the air was refreshing regardless of the exhaust and fumes and all that was that made it this place. It was cold and dark outside and the darkness would normally scare you as you knew better than anyone considered ‘ordinary’ what lied in the shadows and lurked in the darkness consuming the city for easy prey and fresh meal but today, you were just tired. So, so tired, that you could not bring yourself to care as much as you usually would.

 

Fishing your keys out of your bag as soon as you made it into the building so you would not have to wait in front of your apartment’s door where it was cold half a minute trying to find your keys when you could be inside where it was not so cold, you took the stairs two at a time to make it to your floor in record time even with your heels digging into the backs of your feet painfully— at this point with how tired you were, you knew you would undeniably have to crawl your way upstairs if you took it slow; the slower you were in your ascend to your home, the less were the chances of your even making it home. What a sorry sight for every eye ever, with no exceptions. You were a mess. You were a disgusting, desperate mess.

 

As your key turned in the lock, you found yourself remembering the contents of your fridge. Lack of, more precisely. You had been too busy with everything lately and considering how tired you had been for the past few days or weeks or months or whatever, you never exactly made an effort to get off your lazy and increasingly thinning butt and to go shopping. Instead, you filled your stomach with instant noodles or chips or sometimes some crackers from a few eons ago, which by the way you had no idea where they came from— lack of appetite combined with a ridiculous diet, you found yourself losing weight. You had always wanted to and decided you were somewhat content with it even when you knew very well how unhealthy it was for you. Somehow, you were past caring. Even when you were less of a whale, you were mediocre at best. You would take whatever you could get, even if your stupidity cost you your health. Again, past caring; you were already dying a slow and mundane death, you would be content with throwing some relentless agony into the mix.

 

And suddenly, you were not hungry anymore.

 

As soon as the door was open, you toed off the heels that had been killing you all day and instead of placing them to side where they would usually sit very neatly and professionally seeing as to how you needed to wear them for work again tomorrow, you opted to just kick them aside. Yay, Friday, nay later. More sleep. Sleep. Sleep. You were so damn tired.

 

Your eyes closed with a sigh as you made it into the living room without even bothering to turn the lights on, you took off your coat and flung it onto the unoccupied dining table that you never even used other than for piling up your stuff on; trash combined with clothes flung aside carelessly, were you to dug through it, you were confident you would find all that you thought you had lost. As you padded to your bedroom, you unzipped your skirt and let it fall down your legs, kicking it to side when you were done shimmying out of them. You would have to wash it and iron it until Monday, at the moment though, it was totally worth it. Instead of unbuttoning your shirt all the way, you undid first few buttons and reached back to take it off as if it were a t-shirt, which was definitely not how they were supposed to be handled to avoid wrinkling and tearing and all that, tossing it to where your skirt went as well. Fuck all that for now. Maybe if you felt a little less dead inside tomorrow, you would bother cleaning them up.

 

When you reached for the door of the adjoined bathroom, a hand around your mouth and an eerily muscular arm wrapped around your waist stopped you abruptly— from moving, from breathing, from thinking, processing and living all combined. Someone was in your home! Someone broke into your home and you were stupid, you did not even turn on the lights! You stripped on your way into your bedroom, making it easier for the intruder to just handle you around and dare you say have his way with you with zero regards to your psychological state— you were making yourself at home because technically it was your home, but you should have been careful, more observant, more paranoid, giving that you were living alone and all! Shit, that was how you were going to die? In the arms of a stranger, in the middle of the night, when you were just back from work and when you were just so, so damn tired— stupidly and ironically, too tired to check for any potential danger which you so unceremoniously dismissed?

 

With death clear as day in sight and sudden rushed of adrenaline flushing your face and pushing your body into overdrive, you suddenly were not _as_ enthusiastic about it as you were on your way home from the probably shittiest week ever— so you blindly elbowed the man to free yourself from his unrelenting hold, head thrown back so you could wiggle free to no avail. Your legs kicked in the air because the arm wrapped around your waist to hold you still was made of iron and you shook your head left and right, back and forth; throat sore from your screams muffled to broken sounds by the large hand on your mouth and eyes watery from lack of oxygen— all that filled your lungs when you inhaled deeply was overwhelming leather and iron.

 

“How careless can you get?”

 

The familiar voice rasped in your ear and your whole body slacked in his hold as a shiver ran down your spine at the close proximity, suddenly feeling safe and just as tired as you were a few seconds prior, if not more due to all the struggling and trying to save your life. You should have recognized the familiar scent before, which now with the identity revealed, filled your nostrils and you felt the ends of his hair tickle your neck— the proximity that bothered you before was something you were suddenly very, very aware of; feeling the contours of his body and warmth on your back, fitting perfectly to your shape like a glove.

 

The hand on your mouth moved to rest on a bare hip but the other around your waist refused to budge, which meant he wanted you to stay still and face front instead of him. You had learned when you first met him to do as he wanted you to do for it was the best for all parties involved, he was a disciplined man who had zero tolerance for disobedience in his presence especially when he knew the best; void of mercy for the mortal, weak and ignorant. He always held his head high like he was above everyone and everything and knew things no one had ever known, which annoying as it was, also very scary at the same time in a way that made all the hair on your body stand. Not that you could formulate proper sentences that made sense and sounded good when in his presence anyway, so all communication was limited to your expertise on reading him and the meaning behind his gestures and the intentions with which he moved gracefully.

 

“Vergil…”

 

You found yourself exhaling with relief, your body sagging against his chest. It was now that you were realizing how bare his arms were against your just as unclothed form—he must have taken off his coat. Knowing him, he would have it neatly folded over a chair in your room but not hung where you could potentially see it on your way over if he wanted to scare you shitless like this. Not that you would have noticed. Tired, tired, tired— so damn tired yet it felt as if he had the power to even scare your fatigue away with his domineering presence alone; you were acutely aware of him and what he was doing, how he was positioned against you. His hair was tickling the side of your neck, meaning he had it down instead of slicked backwards like he usually preferred to have it styled and his skin was cool to touch, yet body still somewhat warm against your chilled one. Usually, he would be burning up, so had he made himself home and taken a shower prior to your coming home? Why did the distant thought of that make you flush down to your chest and up to your ears? How long had he even been here?

 

How _long_ had he even been…

 

He hummed quietly and you could not quite decipher what for— he was definitely not acknowledging you, he was observing you, feeling you up under his glove clad palms and mapping out your curves and contours; just as you were actively focused on how he felt against you and what exactly his intentions could be— the feeling of having him so close, so, so close made your chest heave and as your breathing quickened your hands reached for the backs of his, for which you were so grateful to have on you. It had been so long. Too long.

 

You did not even know where he went. How he was. No words uttered, not a single glance cast back to you when he walked out of your door. You were not even supposed to meet him, he had said when you first found him in an alley following a trail of blood; you were not even supposed to know he existed, bleeding to his agonizingly painful death in the ruins of a temple that broke through the ground in flames in the middle of nothingness only to crumble down to cease existence; concrete in his open flesh and bleeding wounds infected by dust and grime, carved into his delicate skin foreign latters of an ancient tongue. He looked horrible, hair down, clothes wet with blood, blood, blood so thick your stomach turned and you threw up with the initial shock of finding a half-dead man. He was heavy and he was powerless; he was conscious although it was slipping rapidly but he made no sounds, not a single complaint or whine of pain left his lips, except for when you asked his name and moved to call an ambulance to have him looked at, when you hauled him the best you could and dragged him to your apartment— taking the longer but safer way, respecting his wish to remain anonymous, noting with fear how you might have gotten yourself into something you could not get out of later by helping him. You had not even been graced with the knowledge of his name for two months—

 

“You had lost weight.”

 

He stated against your shoulder this time and snapped you out of your train of thought, and you were tempted to say something along the lines of him being the son of Satan and stating the obvious but you seemed to lose your wits around him, silenced to embarrassment and unable to regulate your thoughts into sentences that made sense let alone induce harmless banter. Not that he was the kind of person to sit down and talk to you about things that didn’t made sense and needn’t be spoken of: he was a man of very few words who let his actions speak for him in his stead and that made you shut your mouth in an attempt to try and read him just as well as he could read you like an open book, try to understand the dilemma that was him. Everything was a game with Vergil and while you weren’t the brightest bulb around, you were definitely not a fool.

 

“I had, uh…” Your words caught in your throat as you felt his hands move to your stomach and back to your hips where they stayed, yours not leaving the gloved back of his and to your astonishment, he opened his hands wide so you could entwine your fingers with his to the best of your abilities from back— a gesture that was strangely intimate that it set your chest on fire and your breath catch in your throat and your eyes burn with unshed tears of what? Happiness or agony? You wanted to ask him so many questions, so many things: ‘Where have you been?’, ‘Why have you been gone for so long?’, ‘Why did you come back after so long just when I was getting used to the heartbreak of loneliness?’ none of which ever left your lips, could ever be voiced in his presence without being discarded as something he had not already known.. Instead, you leaned your head back on his shoulder and closed your eyes despite the darkness, exhaling softly. “I had been in a dark place for a while… Couldn’t exactly, um… You know, yeah.”

 

You mumbled foolishly and you caught your bottom lip between your teeth as soon as you were done— that was such a dumb thing to say! You couldn’t, what? What the hell? Yet you found yourself answering to his unasked question truthfully even when your ability to structure sentences had been reduced to crumbled mess, without even hesitation. You would always admit to him things you would never dare acknowledge yourself, things sometimes so dark and gloomy, things sometimes light and childish and full of life. He would coax them all out of you, everything you had to offer without even a word uttered, without a single muscle moved.

 

When his hands reached front again, you dutifully pulled your hands free from his and your mouth hung open to say his name ( blindly and for what, you had not yet figured ) but before you could, he turned you around. Eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, you looked up and into his piercing blue orbs curtained by locks of silver curling around the edges. He had definitely showered: as familiar as his scent lurking subtly in the back, you could certainly detect hints of your own shampoo and body wash on him— and while you would have taken his natural musk over your own perfumed products any day, the domesticity of him making himself at home, using your shower and your shampoo as he would when he lived here made your heart hammer against the confines of your rib cage, threatening to break free and fly away into the cold night’s sky: the feeling burning your core in a way that made you want to cry our your heart for hours. Why was he back? You were content knowing he was alive and unharmed, but you would have been better not knowing which if he were to leave you again. Without a word. Or a reason.

 

He looked better, older and wiser— His skin was unscarred as you had last seen him and untouched by ugliness; the irony of Vergil was that he looked untainted and pure, he glowed as if he were a holy being descended from above to lead the mankind to good when he was anything but. He, as he claimed to have, descended from a superior demonic being who crawled his way up into the world of humans only to fall for one; a witch who battled the demonic powers and beings of the underworld by his side, who bore his twin children— half demons, half humans and first of their kind. He had demonic blood running through his very being, maybe burning hotter in his veins under his untouched skin than that of his human one and the thought of being so powerless in his presence made your ears ring in time with the feeling of your hammering pulse against your neck and the back of your head and in your mouth— you could feel it everywhere, you could feel his gaze as it pierced through your mortal self and as he left you fractured but whole whenever and only when you were with him.

 

He looked nothing like and everything like Vergil when he had his hair down like this. It made your cheeks redden even more if it were even possible and your form close in on itself, silence heavy in the air. He was observing you, from head to toe, his eyesight undoubtedly just as good as it was in bright day light as inferred from the confident trail of his gaze from head down to your feet. You felt fragile and like a scolded child, feeling dread settle in your stomach for not taking care of yourself better because he was looking at you in a way that spoke for itself. Like he was disappointed. Like he so foolishly expected you to do better but like you had failed him very graciously.

 

When you gaze drifted down to the floor and lingered on nothing in particular, you felt his now slightly warmer index finger on your chin, tilting it up so you could look up at him through your eyelashes and shame to the best of your abilities in the dark. You were in your underwear, half-naked in your not-so-warm bedroom but it was being subjected to his knowing gaze that you unable to break free that made you shiver again. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip and his hand moved to frame the side of your neck as he spoke— raspy and gravelly as if he hadn’t spoken in ages, molasses thick and you could just cry.

 

“I do not like it.”

 

He could see through your defenses and all your bullshit, when could he failed to do so ever since your paths crossed? The way he looked down at you spoke for itself— you were tired and lonely, barely hanging on and trying to get by when you had a modest life, modestly successful career— you had more than what some people in the world could ever hope to have and yet you were miserable like this: not knowing why it started or how. You did not know what it was that made you feel nauseous and like you were suffocating, like you were trying in vain to breathe underwater and every time you inhaled salt would fill your nostrils and you would choke and it would hurt and burn and salvage on its way down your throat. You had become such a mess and you did not even know when everything started to collapse in on you, why it had now. Now seeing him, in front of you after some three years made your lips tremble and your eyes burn with unshed tears; for him or your sorry self, you had no idea.

 

You wanted to ask, you wanted to ask so badly and you assumed that he would dignify that with an answer eventually if he liked— but you could not bring yourself to. You had missed him even though you had no right to miss him as someone looking at his life through a window, you craved his touch no matter how fleeting it was and how bitter it felt on your tongue and how it made your skin crawl when you realized over and over and over again that this was not meant to last or mean anything. You craved his silence and to hear the things he had never said when he was gone— you craved to feel his embrace and wanted to carve the image of his face behind your eyelids into reality to stay right where you were, you wanted to engrave him into your soul and never let him go like he once had— _all when you had no right to_. You were not supposed to fall in love with him, he had warned you not to get attached, he had told you that as grateful as he were, the instance of the two of you ever meeting was not to be recalled or recurred.

 

You were the idiot that did not listen to him again, the idiot who suffered the consequences for not abiding by his word.

 

Instead of asking him for answers he was not obliged to give, you decided to take a chance— slowly stood on your tiptoes to lean closer into him, eyes closing as his piercing icy blue ones remained open and on your features. He met you halfway through and you felt the cold press of his lips against your chapped ones— firm but slow, controlling but grounding. He was not unsure of the way he moved but he took his time brushing his lips against yours as he did, so slowly, delicately and gently yet firmly in a way that had your toes curling into the carpet beneath your feet, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and coaxing your lips apart. A hand on your hip travelled further down to your barely-covered buttock and gave it a firm squeeze in order to have you gasping breathlessly against his mouth and leaning into his touch, tight in his arms so he would be able to maneuver your body to whichever way he pleased and when you drifted far, far away, could bring you crashing back on earth hard with a pinch to your hip and neatly trimmed fingernails curling into your sensitive, rapidly warming skin.

 

Your arms wrapped around his neck and your shaky digits combed through his silver locks fanning over his face, holding onto him desperately as if you had the strength to make him stay, stay, stay, just please stay for once; it had been too long since I had last seen you, it had been too long since  last had you—. He held you like a lover would every now and then and every single time, you held onto him like a thirsty woman abandoned in the middle of a desert, anhydrous and convinced that he would keep you alive, that he was the one and only thing that could keep you alive, his importance above and more prominent than air itself. You had missed this, God you had missed every single second of being able to inhale the musky scent unique to him and that was all him and boy had you missed the chance of kissing him like this when you were together, under the same roof. You were content with the dark but you would have given anything to have your eyes roam over his milky skin then, his strict features, having taken the chance too little too late.

 

Your breathless, surprised gasp was muffled against the heath of his open mouth when he lifted you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing in his hold and as if he were mocking laws of physics, gravity and even the concept of comprehension itself and you had to break away from the heated kiss to catch your breath.  As your legs wrapped around his waist and hips rolled experimentally into his in a way that was shy and unknowing, he led you—blind in the dark and nothing to hold on to other than his sturdy and reliable form, you were delightfully surprised when you felt the soft, silky mattress of your bed beneath you instead.

 

It was then you realized that something had changed in him— you did not exactly know what changed or when it happened but when you thought back to all the handful of times you had been almost intimate together without having use for touches or words, this was different. This was physical, this was real and you were almost reluctant to think whether this was a dream or not. This was not just another ungrounded fantasy you deluded yourself into, this was not just a fleeting figment of your imagination. This was intimacy on a whole another level— one that you had never ever thought he would allow you to bask in. This was contact, this was tangible and concrete: this was an unvoiced act of admitting to there being a spark of attention and a grain of care for your being on his part.

 

He not only kissed you back, which was a gamble on your part to begin with as you did not know whether he would reciprocate or decapitate you, but also kissed you like you were _his_ woman and held you like you were loyalty; he handled you gently as if you were a fragile piece of artwork that took ages of intricate detailing and work to complete instead of backing you up against the nearest surface he could to have his way for you with little to no regard— he let your trembling fingers reach up and unzip his jacket and aided you in sliding the garment off his skin only to toss it unceremoniously, which was something you never thought he would being the calculated and disciplined man he was, before crawling over your body slowly, placing a few agonizing kisses on his way upwards.

 

“Vergil…” You placed your hands on his bare chest and let your fingers curl a little so you could drag your nails down his milky skin ever so gently, feeling the lean muscles of his body stretch as he moved above you to pepper breathtakingly gentle and fleeting kisses along the skin of your sensitive and curved neck, up your lax jawline and back to your ear, taking your earlobe between his delicate teeth as if he had already known what it would do to your already helplessly trembling body— the whole encounter was slow-paced and dragged out as if he wanted to savor your presence and the salty taste of your skin on his tongue, the feeling of your soft and supple flesh beneath his hands for as long as he could and its foreign sensuality left you gasping for air, head thrown back and your hair fanned over your pillow. “Vergil, please…”

 

You did not know what you were begging him to do; to stop or just listen to what you had in mind but could not say to him— you did not want him to part from your burning flesh for just the briefest of seconds, however, in a way that left you stunned, he shifted above you to look down at you instead up and where his lips had been brushing over your skin seconds prior left so suddenly cold without his touch. Penetrating blue met your glassy orbs and you reached out with both hands, still somewhat trembling as you reached for his cheeks either from fear or excitement or pain or most likely whatever it was that you could not quite put your finger on. Your thumbs swiped over his defined cheekbones and you did not dare turn your gaze away from his passive one, lips quivering.

 

White locks that you so loved, untainted by red seeping blood, framed over his beautifully sculpted face— he was like a fine art you would never ever grow weary or tired of seeing. From the way his noticeably darker brows furrowed slightly to the way his gray eyelashes fanned over his defined cheekbones, complimenting the unique blue of his eyes— swirling in the middle with bright yellows and subtle shifts to green and brown. Lips, full and luscious, was red from your previous kiss, one that was not nearly as demanding as you had always imagined him to be. Gentle, instead, curious and exploring. He was beautiful, ethereal and otherworldly; it was a tragicomic melody ringing in your ears— the act alone of offering yourself up for someone who heeded none of it from anyone, let alone someone as ordinary as you.

 

“I… I missed you and I need to know… if you’re doing well.”

 

You had not expected to say what you did and it was apparent from the way Vergil’s eyebrows lifted so subtly that he had not quite expected the confession to spill between your lips either— and you could not help but bite your quivering bottom lip at the vulnerability you were displaying, lack of response making you burn inside out— what the hell were you doing? Whatever it was that you thought you had with him was over if not already nonexistent and you were beyond the age of deluding yourself into thinking or even remotely believing that there was something going on for there _was not_. At all. Never. Never had, he had never and would ever embrace and come to terms with the reality of what had happened— that you had seen him at his worst. You nursed him back to health and patched him up where he was bleeding: you had no right to miss him or hope anything beyond physical contact.

 

But you did not regret it, not really, because he had to know and you had to know, too. Something in him changed and you could not quite place your finger on how and why and when, but it had— you could tell it had from the way he held you and handled you, it was not like you two communicated much on a verbal level anyway so you had learned long ago to read and make do with whatever he was giving you. He had been determined to realize what he and his ancestors had dreamed of before, not lonely because he was alone but preferring solicitude over one another’s redundant company, the singular being that deserved to share his throne was none other than his brother, with whom his ideals clashed. You could see it in the way he carried himself high and proud, in the knowing quirk of his eyebrows and the corner of his lips, in the tone of his unwavering voice and the meaning buried behind his belittling taunts.

 

This time it was… It was something else you had never seen on his face. It was something you could not name, it was something so unlike Vergil and much more like, all the more like… like human.

 

Had he lost something during the three year absence, had he found something that he always lacked but never let himself acknowledge for fear that it would render him weak and underachieved? Had he found whatever it was that he was looking for when he left with the intentions of unification and domination over the mortal kind? Had he set out to challenge his twin brother for the throne and to defeat him in order to acquire something that he had like he said he would? Had he acquired the secret book containing seals and the secrets of what was built to be the passage between the human world and the demon one in order to unleash it? Not that you could follow much of it, not that he told you much of it. You were in the dark either way as he set out to realize his goal, only to have come back a different man.

 

There was anguish and loneliness in the way he looked at you.

 

“Do not concern yourself with such petty matters that are irrelevant to you.”

 

His words were colder than ice but they did not freeze you all the way to your core as they normally would, meaning having lost its bite somewhere along the way— It was blatantly obvious to you regardless of the peculiarity of the way he chose to voice his response: he was not telling you to mind your own business and stay out of his, he was telling you not to be concerned about his wellbeing and how he was doing. He was acknowledging your feelings for and about him and unlike he ever had, confronting you about it indirectly. But you were having none of it— whether apart for years hardened you or resulted in your patience running out, you frowned up at him, determined to get answers out of him: answers explaining why he was back after being gone for so, so long and why he kissed you and held you and let you hold and handle him as if you two had ever been anything beyond acquaintances unable to communicate through much, answers revealing whether he killed his only alive relative whom he had been pursuing in unrealistic hopes or not.

 

He must have seen determination and venom by the way your face contorted though, because his lips were on yours faster than you could react and one hand tangled not-so-gently in your locks as he maneuvered you to his liking, teeth nipping along your flushed skin and tongue coaxing yours into a play that you were sure to lose— it left you dizzy and unable to focus on anything other than the way he felt pressed snugly against you as if he were meant to be there for an eternity and ever after. Hands on both cheeks, your fingers curled into his white locks and one hand scratched down to rest on the back of his neck as you breathed the same air, tongues and teeth a tangled mess, only the sounds of lips smacking in a wet kiss and your enthusiastic little gasps and moans muffled by his mouth could be heard in the dark silence of your room.

 

He tugged your hair and pressed you down into the pillow so you would be unable to raise your head to so much as look at him as he kissed along your neck and collarbones, teeth meeting skin and bone in a way that was sure to leave marks behind to remind you later of this encounter— palpable evidence of this actually happening was left on your skin in shape and form of bruises and blisters, marked by incessant kisses and darkened and made permanent by domineering teeth. It hurt in a way that had you hissing and writhing underneath his much larger frame, but the hand that was not holding you captive was busy running down your side to take a hold of your thigh in order to coax your leg around his waist— you complied without complaints, both aching legs wrapping around and loosening to accommodate to his weight.

 

You did not need to hear him say it to know what he wanted you to do, so your hands shimmied beneath your back to unclasp your bra, shrugging your shoulders to have the straps slide down your arms tantalizingly slowly. As his lips descended down in their unrelenting path as if he were claiming his territory, you cast the removed garment of clothing aside, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Wordlessly, he removed his hand from your hair and it joined the other in mapping out the curves of your aching and trembling body, helping his lips with fanning the scorching heat alit in your core.

 

“Ngh, Verg—il…”

 

How had you hoped, how had you wanted to have his plush lips wrap around your pert nipples, tongue flicking over them and teeth grazing ever so slightly in a way that was sure to make you cry out and whimper, in a way that would doubtlessly make your hips buck up to his so you would get to feel more of him pressed up against you, so you would get to take all he had to give you like the good girl you were for him: open and ready as he wanted you to.

 

He disappointed you briefly when he skipped your chest altogether though, making you heave a sigh of protest only to choke on it before it could leave your clogged throat when his lips continued their descend down your stomach, lips tracing the lacy hem of your undergarments. Flushed down to your neck, you could only afford a glance down at him only to find his icy blue orbs looking straight up at you as if he could see through your very self and soul, as if he wanted to watch and observe the mess he had reduced you to— single-minded and lacking mercy in the way he exerted his agonizingly sweet assault on your willing and fragile body.

 

Your eyes had well-adjusted to the dark with how long you two had stayed there and you were thankful for the moonlight highlighting his features in your room, void of light and conversation— his eyes had never left yours once to look down and you could not look away with the way he was looking at you, you could not look away with what he was about to do, with what you were so desperate for him to do. Slowly but firmly, his muscular arms wrapped around your legs and large hands palmed your ass, the warmth and callouses of which enough to drive you insane even through the flimsy fabric.

 

“I shall answer your inquiry only on the condition that you indulge me. Let go.”

 

How could you not with the way he rasped against your burning skin? You lifted your hips of your own accord, but he did not slip your panties down your trembling legs as you had hoped he would— instead he descended lower without breaking eye contact for even a second, placing a lengthy lick up your clothed core. It was then you had no choice but to break from his gaze, head thrown back in blissful torment as he so openly tasted your dripping self through clothing which was just about to drive you crazy with the way it kept brushing over your clitoris just barely when you needed more and more and more and all that he would give you— If you had ever known a fraction of the person he was, he would not give you what you wanted unless you showed utter and complete compliance and obedience, unless you have completely and thoroughly given yourself over to him to do as he pleased to.

 

So you had surrendered your hold on his shoulders and relaxed your body in his hold, arms going lax on your sides and fingers curling into the soft mattress instead. Suddenly, you felt exposed and felt the chill of your relatively cold bedroom run over your body, leaving your nipples pert and parts of your skin where he marked you wet with sharp bites. You felt his subtle smirk against the inside of your left thigh when he quietly announced his victory and basked in the glory it brought, pleased that you were able to see through and catch on so quickly after so long.

 

Your legs tightened around his head instinctively when you felt the tickle of his lips on the sensitive and plush skin, huffing out in desperation. He did not make you wait for too long after that though, thumb brushing your panties to one side as he opened you wide with two, making you feel naughty in ways you never had before— the act of being intimate with him was a foreign and scarily new concept to you but his touch did not feel unwelcome; it was more akin to having your dreams finally come true by some power that was holier than you. Embarrassed as you were, the cold air brushed over your wantonly open and glistening core, making the anticipation of his lips on you all the more unbearable.

 

You felt the warmth of his tongue on you then, unscrupulous in the way it curled and moved against your mound; flat as he traced your labia as if he were mocking you and unbearably light as he flicked your clitoris again and again and again— you wanted him, you wanted more of him, you wanted his fingers to join the salacious play of his wicked tongue on your cunt but words failed you and clogged your throat, voice coming out as broken syllables that made little sense to ears. His teeth traced the delicately sensitive skin there, coaxing your hips to buck up into his face to feel more of the addictive sensation only to fail due to the iron grip he had around your hips, rendering you immovable. You not once stopped your fruitless exertion, however, moans and groans falling from your kiss-swollen lips as you attempt to move your hips in time with the way he was eating you out; so dirtily, so hungrily.

 

“Ah! Hng, Vergil… Please, please, more—”

 

Your desperate sounds seemed to coax some out of his composed self and he groaned openly against your twitching heat, vibrations of the tingle of his voice driving you near insane. It was not the need to have him to your liking that urged your fingers to wrap in his snowy white and tangled mess of locks but the need to have him closer, have him work you over the edge that you were so damn close to— your lust was contagious, driving him to double his efforts in pleasuring you just the right way, deeper and harder, teeth grazing over your clitoris just the right way with the exact amount of pressure you needed to tumble down the peak— your orgasm lasting for what seemed to you like hours and hours on end with the way he let his hold of you lax so you could ride it out on his face, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your glossy eyes shut tightly with the sheer force of the pleasure he was giving you alone.

 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, you attempted to push his head away as he licked up everything you had to give him like a starved man. Not long after having heard your drawn out and borderline pained groans he relented and crawled up your completely and utterly fucked up body to kiss you full on the lips, the tangy and somewhat familiar taste of your cum invading your senses as his tongue sought yours, tangling with yours until the unique taste of his mouth on yours had been replaced by the odd taste of your own cum instead, heightening the experience for you all the more; making it unbelievably real as he gradually, slowly but surely stroked the flames of desire back alight in your body.

 

His hands finally cupped the supple flesh of your breasts and you sighed with relief into his mouth, the calloused hold of his worm out leathered palm welcome, not having realized how much you needed him to hold you tight like he owned you until he had. Your own hands, clumsy but impatient, trailed down to the waistband of his pants so you could unbuckle his belt with blind determination and almost admirable single-mindedness; the want to feel his pulsing and throbbing length in your palm and wet in your tightness overwhelming you, thumb swiping the precum over his head and trailing down to press over bulging veins along his member.

 

Neither of you willing to part lips from one another, one of his hands trailed down to help you rid him of his constricting pants, just as, if not more eager to become one with you. As soon as he unzipped them, you pressed your hand flat against his twitching abdomen and trailed your warm touch down to wrap your fingers around the throbbing heat that was his cock, unable to bite back the groan of hungry approval that went muffled by his lips seeking your own in a kiss that was more shared breath than actual contact. Feeling him throb in your hold as if he were seeking more of your touch was one thing, hearing a deep groan rumble in his chest was what had you moaning and wrapping your legs around his waist and _bucking_ up to have him inside, just get _inside_ _please_ —

 

He caved in and you felt the blunt edge of his nails dig into your flesh as his fingers curled into your ass to lift it up to position himself over your entrance and you gave him a few solid pumps before teasing the both of you by rubbing the tip of his cock against your wetness, shuddering in unadulterated pleasure as goosebumps ran up your quaking body. Holding you captive and completely framing your smaller self beneath his lean and muscular body, Vergil pressed into you— sliding into your sopping heat with welcome agony.

 

“Relax. You are so tight.”

 

He rasped next to your ear right where he knew well by now that drove you crazy whenever his lips brushed against, voice gravelly and ethereal as he spoke— how could you ever hope to comply when he spoke with such desperate urgency against your ear, voice strained as if he were holding himself back from fucking you unconscious into the mattress, as if he had been waiting for you two to become one for as long as you had. How could he ask you to relax after making you come all over his face without doing so much as inserting a finger into your heat?

 

With a breathless chuckle you heaved at the irony, your muscles clamped even tighter around his length, and his strained groan had you wrapping your legs tighter around him, heels of your aching feet pressing to the small of his back to urge him further in, hips lifting to show him that you could take it, that you would take all of him; that you would always take without complaint all that he had to ever give you.

 

“I can take it, please… Vergil, _please_. I _need_ you.”

 

Your bold display and salacious confession seemed to tick him off in a way that made it very challenging for him to deny you, thrusting his hips firmly to slide all the way in, _all the way in_ to your aching heat and dear gods, did you feel the press of him, did you feel _so full_ with him inside of you. He did not give you enough time to adjust to his length and you supposed that you cared little for your deserved punishment, after all, you had learned by now how he disliked the idea of being vulnerable in front of someone else, be it his almost-lover or long lost brother.

 

Head thrown back with a moan as he moved his hips just the way you needed it— hard and fast to get you worked up, slow and sensuous to reel you away from your anticipated orgasm; he was playing you like a violin, your whole body victim to his ministrations that held such expertise that you could almost cry—you did not know where he ended and where you began, you did not possess to capability to comprehend such pleasure and how he could make you see stars with little effort. He could exert his dominance over you and you would take it, he could claim every single part of your body as his own and would not say a word in turn; there was not much you would not let him do without being broken apart and into million little pieces.

 

Him touching you kissing you, _making love to you_ like a lover only to leave again without a single word uttered again, without one glance cast back to you again would do it, though.

 

“Vergil, I’m—”

 

He must have caught on to what you were thinking silently by the flicker or distress that briefly crossed over your face because he had both hands on your cheeks right after and lips on yours in a way that left you breathless, hips losing their incessant, fast-paced rhythm to that of a sensual one that filled you so _deep_ , you could only hold on to his bulging biceps and cry out his name over and over; successfully taking your mind off the darkness of his leaving plaguing your consciousness and hauling it somewhere far, far away.

 

Your nails dug into his back with desperation and you circled your hips to urge him deeper, to move faster and harder, to hold your hand and follow along as you tumbled over the edge you were so dangerously teetering by. A hand on the small of your back elevated your hips and aided you in your movements as he hit that place within you that made a wordless cry leave your lips each time the tip of his cock brushed over it, sometimes eerily gently and other times ruthless in the way it consumed you whole; the other hand of his pressing on your stomach, trailing down to flick his thumb over your clitoris.

 

“I know. Come, then.”

 

It was as if he owned your body, a command constructed of nothing but two simple words enough to make your body convulse with an _otherworldly_ pleasure that had to be a _sin_ , body clamping around his rock hard member as you came, came, came— dear lord, did you _come_ in the arms of the man you loved so much, you had always loved, always thought of, always wanted to have the way you were then— tears streaming down your cheeks in a straight line that disappeared down your temples, all that could leave your kiss-swollen lips were broken sobs of his name as if you could formulate no other words, as if your whole vocabulary suddenly consisted of nothing but his name and words that were nowhere near enough to depict the love you harbored for him. He could have been a demon, he could have been the devil himself— so be it.

 

“You too, _Vergil_. Please, I want you, please.”

 

You hummed against his ear, arms having wrapped around his broad shoulders to coax him in, closer to your chest as you undulated your hips and flexed your muscles to have him chase after his own high, to have him feel the same pleasure that he made you experience, to have him so deep in your body as he came and filled you to the brim with all that was him; you wanted so bad to be so full of his release that you would feel it drip down your legs for the next few days, so full that you would flush in public when you felt the ache of his hips against your own with each step, so, so full that you could focus on nothing but him and the way he made you feel then.

 

Your words, the way you said his name and begged for him to chase after his own high using you just like you had him and the way you opened your body up to him seemed to urge him on and make him rid some of the self-control he admirably still possessed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he came with a grunt, sweat glistening on his milky skin that you loved so much, void of the scars you thought would be marring it after having survived through how you found him; flawless save for the angry lines of four running down his back from your nails, already healing when you ran the tips of your fleeting fingers over them ever so gently.

 

His breaths over your chilled skin lulled you to tranquility and sweat drenched locks clung on both your respective skins, finally coming down from our high to realize how bare and cold you were. Goosebumps ran down your bare and very sore legs with the feeling, tangling with his still pants-clad ones to keep him there, arms draped loosely around his relaxed frame.

 

Never had you imagined even in your dreams that you would see him like this: in your arms after having made love to you, calm and relaxed, able to express more than the cruel sternness he always wore on his face, eyebrows knitted and lips drawn into a tight, controlled line. He had to have been through much to have molded into the person that he was today: driven and ambitious, walls kilometers high built all around his iced heart to keep everyone out so he would not get attached to anyone or anything that would delay him from realizing his ambitious goal. Your fingers itched to run through his damp locks, but you held your hand mid-air, exhaling as dread settled deeper into your stomach. Voice raspy, hands cold as you spoke.

 

“I’d get it if you regr—”

 

“As for your question.”

 

He interrupted you, raising his had to look at you straight in the eye— the face that haunted him for so long, through limbo and hell, heaven and earth. He demanded not an explanation as to his whereabouts, but she deserved one; worry etched clear into her flawless features as she looked at him right in the eye with so much love and care for simply being who he was that it was hard to comprehend the intentions behind it. How he had found a subordinate that he had not trusted but kept around simply for the sake of exerting his control over the mortal world, that not only ended up betraying him but his own blood, wreaking havoc and calamity on him and his brother, ending up with his soul in the clutches of his father’s native lands for far too long. Exhausted, spent; left with no means to fight or defend himself, how he crawled his way up through the corpses of rotten demons and malicious soul that was left behind and murdered by his own very bare hands: Mundus.

 

It was time he told her of a tale. 

 

“It begins with a man seduced by evil, and the story of Sparda that I had shared with him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finally. I've started this LONG time ago but just got around to finishing it, orz. Hope y'all like it!


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